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Black
When the day is done,
But life is long,
Black is what I see.
When all the people dive into slumber,
Black is what I see.
Nature's best at night,
And the stars are right,
Come hither, child,
Come see,
I know what they whisper is true,
The question is, do you?
An unsuspecting person,
Comes out, all shy, and sees
The animals are sleeping,
The wind plays with the trees.
And now they are a Wanderer
They step in time with me.
And as I leave my home tonight,
I think aloud...
I must.
I am the the only lucky one?
Has Elsewhere seen the dusk?
I run from my small village sweet
And to the countryside,
I sit
And stare
For I won’t see light until tomorrow.
So true life is black.
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This poem was inspired by the northern lights I saw at my cabin last summer. The milky way was especially visible, and the lights of a million stars reflected off the lake. While I watched, I began to pity my friends in the city who have probably never seen this, and those who never will. When I wrote this poem, I was back in the city, about six months later. I found the start of this poem scrawled out on a piece of paper, and my memories wrote the rest.